A Study in Magic
by UndeadWithoutCoffee
Summary: What if John was a wizard living in a muggle world? Sherlock watches John casting a spell and tries to find out what he actually just witnessed.
1. Enter: The Skull

_**AN:** I don't own anything except for the Plotbunnies :)_

_Special thanks to Lucy for being my Beta!_

_Enjoy and review please!_

* * *

It was almost 7 PM, when an exhausted John Watson turned the keys to 221B Baker Street. The day at the surgery had been long enough, and just before his shift ended, a gang of youngsters had apparently decided to settle an argument. In the end it meant several hours of overtime. On top of this, Sherlock had been the usual pain in the arse and sent John on a quest for milk and nicotine patches.

On days like these, John pondered if he should make his life easier with a little bit of magic. But then again, he had never been the type to wave his wand at everything. Opposed to the belief of Harry, not all wizards were lazy and never even moved except for waving a wand. In fact, John's oak wand was normally safely hidden within the most boring book he could find, in the hope that Sherlock wouldn't venture to search his books.

As John passed the flat of their landlady, Mrs. Hudson opened the door and motioned for John to come inside. For a moment John pondered asking the older lady if whatever she needed could wait until he had had some tea. But he noticed her worried face and shrugged the thought off, before following her inside.

"Oh dear, I hope Sherlock doesn't come down now...oh well it can't be helped now! Come in dear, and take a look at this," she started and led John into her living room, where a cardboard box was sitting on the table. With a gesture towards the box, she began to explain.

"Sherlock wanted to start some experiments with explosives in the kitchen this morning. So I took his skull hostage in the hope to keep him from blowing up the whole house. He complied and took the stuff out, so I wanted to put the skull back tomorrow. But Hatty, a friend of mine, came over and knocked over the box with the skull..."

John nodded gravely, he couldn't blame Mrs. Hudson for taking the skull to keep the house safe. Cautiously, he peered into the box and saw many bone fragments piled up inside.

"Oh, it looks quite a mess. Does Sherlock know about it?" he asked her, dreading an answer. If Sherlock saw the demolished skull they were going to face hell itself. He could imagine Sherlock torturing his violin for days or more, this being only the start, he would be insufferable!

"Not yet, thank god! I was hoping you could try to glue it back together before he sees it," the older woman answered, knowing exactly what John was fearing. Normally Sherlock was much nicer to her than to most other people. But if he found out that she was responsible for destroying his skull, she had no idea what the detective would do.

"Oh... " John answered looking once again doubtfully into the box. There was no way Sherlock would miss the breaking edges, no matter how carefully he worked. Piecing the skull back together was one thing, but the thing was completely in shards!

"Mrs Hudson I'm not sure..." he started, but he saw the anxious face of their landlady and decided that he couldn't let her down. She endured way too much with Sherlock and him already. He couldn't possibly refuse helping her.

"You know... I'll try to get it back together... Maybe it will work !"

"Thank you John, I hope he just won't notice what happened," Mrs. Hudson answered relieved and handed John the box.

"No problem, Sherlock is quite a handful already, better not poke the sleeping dragon!" John answered, and left for his room.

* * *

A few minutes later, John tiptoed through the apparently empty flat. He deposited the milk in the fridge, shoving aside a plate with severed fingers, and dumped Sherlock's patches onto the couch before he crept upstairs into his room to attend to the skull.

With a huff he emptied the box unceremoniously onto his bed and seated himself next to the heap. Sighing he took a few shards and tried to fit them together, tracing the resulting joints with his fingers. This was never going to work!

After considering his options, John dumped the shards back onto the pile and wriggled out of his jacket, before walking over to one of his cabinets. He had to rummage around a bit and retrieved a slim wooden box out of the depths of the bottom drawer. He sat back onto the bed and carefully took his wand out of the box. It was old and made of dark oak wood with a spiral inlay of lighter maple wood for a handle. He hadn't used it at all, since he moved in with Sherlock. The detective was just too observant to risk it, and unlike wizards from pureblood families, John didn't use magic to cope with his every-day life. He had never seen the need to save a few minutes just with magic, and he didn't find a muggle life boring or dull.

The last time, he had used his wand was in Afgahnistan. They had saved a soldier with severe head injuries. John remembered him telling the others about his pregnant wife and the baby that was due soon. After the injury he didn't even know who or where he was, so John went to his bunk in the field hospital and cured the damages to the brain. The man would still take months to heal, but at least he would remember his family again!

Looking back at the pile of bones in front of him, John shrugged off the memory and flicked his wand at the remains of Sherlock's skull, muttering "_Reparo!_"

The first few seconds, nothing happened, so John waited and watched as the fragments started to float and then whizz around in a sphere about the size of Sherlock's precious skull. The doctor could hear the soft clicks, where the fragments fell into pieces, and slowly the skull was visible in the swirl of shards. It took only about a minute for the spell to work and the skull dropped onto John's bed with a soft thud, as good as new. Smiling, John picked it up and traced over the now smooth surface. The spell had worked perfectly, but then again he had always been good in Charms.

There was no way Sherlock would ever notice that anything had been amiss with the skull, so John got up and placed the skull back into the box. He put his wand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled his jumper down a bit to conceal it, before he went down to bring the skull back to Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

Just a few minutes after John had shut the door behind his room, the doors of his wardrobe creaked open, and revealed a very much perplexed Sherlock inside...


	2. Murder: The Skull

**AN:** Thanks for all the kind reviews! I'm very glad you guys like this story, as I was very insecure about posting it.

I'm still kind of new to Sherlock so if you guys see anything that is completely OOC feel free to point it out.

Again thank you very much Lucy, for being my beta!

As usual, I own nothing except for the plot :)

Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

Sherlock huffed, annoyed, and glanced at his cellphone. _John is late, boring! Need input. OH.._

**_John, if convenient bring milk. If inconvenient, bring milk anyway. And patches. -SH_**

**_Lazy bastard! - JW_**

Once this matter was taken care of, Sherlock got up from the couch and started pacing the room. Just a few minutes later, he went upstairs to rummage in John's wardrobe in search of John's gun.

Just as he was about to give up, he heard the familiar sound of the keys in the lock. _Careful steps, avoiding noise..._ _John's creeping through the flat ? He's clearly hiding something, but what ? Need more data._ Within a few seconds, Sherlock decided to pull the doors of the wardrobe shut. Whatever John was up to, Sherlock was in the ideal spot to find it out at once! This was actually getting quite interesting after all...

However Sherlock was completely unprepared for what he saw: his skull, in shards, being dumped onto the bed by his flatmate! John and Mrs. Hudson had murdered his skull! Suppressing the angry words he was about to shout at John, he paused as the doctor fumbled with some of the fragments. So he didn't murder the skull he tried to fix it...

But even from his watching position, Sherlock could see that the skull was beyond repair, even if John was able to puzzle it together it would never be _his_ skull. Apparently John had come to the same conclusion, but before Sherlock could react, he saw the doctor's expression. Apparently John had an idea, a thought that sparked his interest. This was better than sulking over the loss of his skull. At least momentarily.

So he watched silently as John retrieved an old wooden box from one of his cabinets and waved around with the stick that was inside. _Did he speak latin just now? Reparo, repair?_

_'OH'_ he thought, as the shards of his precious skull started moving out of their own accord. What was he watching? Some kind of illusion? Not possible, the skull was suddenly as good as new. He could see that much. Something with the box and stick? They looked old, but well taken care of. John treated his important belongings like this. But a box with a stick? He certainly needed more data now!

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the opportunity presented itself: John left, the stick in his pocket and the skull in a cardboard box. But he had left the wooden box from which he had taken the stick! A few moments after John had left, Sherlock stepped out of the wardrobe, and snatched the box off John's bed. Wood, dark oak, inlaid maple forming the letters JW, inside furnished with red velvet, apparently old edges already rounded but well maintained. Below the letters, there was a little brass plate reading 'Ollivanders' and below 'Best since 382 BC'.

At this point Sherlock was finally intrigued. He had absolutely no idea what was going on here. He felt like a five year old, taken to the circus before he was old enough to see behind the illusions. But then again, illusionists usually sought an audience and didn't creep into their room to pull their stunt. He definitely needed more data!

But how? He had never seen John do something even remotely similar before. And that despite the fact he entered the doctor's personal space all the time. Somehow he had to get John to repeat whatever he had been doing. And he had to lay hands on his skull. If this was any kind of illusion he was sure he would see traces of the repair. Or that it was a new skull.

With a cheerful outcry Sherlock dropped the wooden box back on John's bed and went downstairs, when he heard John closing the door to their flat.

* * *

John knocked on the door of their landlady a few minutes later.

"Here Mrs. Hudson, as good as new!" he said with a smile and handed her the cardboard box with the skull. Anxious, the older lady looked inside, her face lighting up as she saw the result.

"Oh dear, this looks perfect!. Just how did you manage to glue it together so smoothly?" the older woman demanded.

"Magic!" John replied with a wink, before adding "It was broken at the sutures anyway, so I was able to glue it together."

"Thank you John," Mrs. Hudson answered with a genuine smile, "I will put it back tonight, hopefully Sherlock won't notice!"

With that she bade John goodbye and went back inside her flat. In the meantime, the doctor went upstairs to make tea.

"Oh hey Sherlock! Didn't see you earlier!" He called out to Sherlock, who was already settled on the couch with some patches. As usual, John received no reply. Apparently Sherlock was already deep in thoughts about another case.


	3. Investigating

**AN:** Alright, time for another chapter. I am glad you guys are enjoying what i have so far!

As always reviews are very much welcomed, both praise and critique will be appreciated!

Thanks to Lucy for betaing this story :)

* * *

Sherlock had just been in the bathroom for a few minutes but when he returned, he noticed that Mrs. Hudson had used the short time to sneak into their flat and placed his skull back onto the mantelpiece. Initially he had planned to question her, but then again it did not really matter.

Whatever had happened to the skull, John had taken it to his own room so Mrs. Hudson was probably entirely unaware what the doctor had done. Had she known what John was capable of, he wouldn't have taken the risk to run into Sherlock on his way to his room.

With a flowing movement, Sherlock stepped over the coffee table and snatched his precious skull. Carefully the detective traced over the smooth surface. John had indeed repaired it perfectly, no illusion.

Carefully, he put the skull back and slumped himself onto the couch in his normal position facing the back of the sofa. With closed eyes, he let all of yesterday's events pass by again. John, the broken skull, the wooden box, the stick...

He had been in John's room already, more than once. There had been absolutely nothing to indicate John could ever take out a stick and point it at something broken to repair it. Although he had never searched all of John's clothes thoroughly. Something he should definitely do in the near future, before John found out that Sherlock was investigating him.

Other than that Sherlock was still unsure how to handle all this. He could try to ask John what this was all about, but then again the doctor would probably not answer his questions just like that. Not unless he had more than sneaking into the bedroom to confront John. So the only sensible solution was to watch John even more than usual, in the hope of catching him upon doing ... whatever that was he did.

* * *

The next days passed rather uneventfully, at least for John. He had stored his wand back in his underwear drawer and, as the skull had caused no further uproar with his flatmate, shrugged off the thoughts of it all. Sherlock seemed too preoccupied with his new case to have noticed anything, so apparently no one had any idea what had really happened to the skull.

Just as John was enjoying the rather scarce silence by reading a book, he was interrupted by a loud _'CRASH'._

"Sherlock, what happened?" he called, hurriedly getting out of his armchair.

"Dropped the flasks, John," Sherlock replied calmly, before sprinting to the bath-room."I need to get this off my hands!" he called to John on the way.

With a deep sigh, John put his book onto the coffee table and went into the kitchen to clean up. Sherlock had been extremely clumsy since he started working on this new case, and from previous experiences, John knew that Sherlock would have an excuse ready and leave him to clean up the mess.

* * *

Sherlock slammed the door of the bathroom shut, and peered into the kitchen through the keyhole. But again there was nothing to see, unless one counted John taking a broom and cleaning up after him. Over the the last couple of days he had broken all sorts of things to provoke some kind of reaction from John, but the doctor only got more and more irritated at the prospect of constantly cleaning the flat.

_'Failure, obviously,'_ Sherlock thought and washed his hands for an alibi, before returning to his couch to consider his options.  
After a few minutes the realisation hit him: The skull had meant something!

The last days he had deliberately dropped things ranging from cups to their bathroom mirror and yet nothing had happened! So John would only repair something of sentimental value, like the skull. _'Maybe not a complete failure then...'_

* * *

Lestrade was ready to explode. Suppressing a sigh, he pondered what crimes he had committed in his last life to deserve not only Sherlock but also Mycroft looming over the crime scene today. The victim, a 35 year old-woman, had been employed at Mycroft's office, and the older Holmes was determined to find out if any secret information had been spilled, while Sherlock was doing, well his usual thing.

Outside he had just passed Anderson and Donovan, who were busy discussing that one Holmes was enough to deal with, but releasing two upon the general public was just too much. As he watched Sherlock gesturing at him impatiently while examining the victim, demanding to hear what happened, he could wholeheartedly agree!

"The victim's name was Martina Gonzales, aged 35. She was killed with a blunt object, you can see the wound. She was found..." Lestrade started, but his voice soon faded when he looked up from his notes. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had stopped listening to him and were entirely occupied with a staring-match between John, who had been silently standing near the window, and Anthea who must have entered while he was explaining what had happened to the brothers. Apparently neither Sherlock nor Mycroft had any idea what was going on between John and Anthea, both brothers seemed totally engrossed in watching their companions.

Whatever passed between the doctor and Mycroft's assistant was over in less than a minute. With an irate huff, Anthea stalked out of the room, while a smug grin flashed over John's face, before the doctor returned to his usual calm composure.

"Problem?" he asked as if nothing unusual had occurred and joined Sherlock who was standing next to the body.

Mycroft regained his composure first, and resumed his search through the deceased woman's papers, while Sherlock was eyeing John as if he was a particularly interesting animal at the zoo, before he apparently put whatever he was thinking aside and focused on Lestrade.

"Surely even you can't be so dull, can you? It was clearly the husband being jealous. She had an affair with someone from work and he found out. A row followed and he lost it. John let's go!" With that, the detective pulled at his companion's sleeve and tugged him along outside, waving at Anderson and Donovan, who gaped at the duo.


	4. Deals

**AN:** Alright 2 chapters this weekend!

Please review, any comments help to improve this!

Thanks to my beta Lucy! You're awesome :)

* * *

Once outside the victim's house, Sherlock gripped John's arm in an iron grip, and pulled the doctor into the next quiet alley. Despite John making an effort to loosen himself from the detective's grasp, there was nothing he could do, unless... but that was something he would never do. And much less to a friend.

"John what was that?" Sherlock asked, pinning the doctor against a wall so that he could not get away.

"What was what?" he replied, looking up at his flatmate with what was supposed to be an innocent look. Unfortunately John had never been any good at lying, so Sherlock knew at once and glared at him with narrowed eyes, waiting for John to speak.

"Anthea was being a git, I caught her when she was trying to pull a trick on Lestrade and stopped her, no idea why she made such a fuss about it!" This time, maybe because his lie was hidden among the truth, Sherlock looked like he was starting to believe him, but didn't seem entirely convinced.

"And how? Telepathy? You two didn't speak!"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! Just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon it doesn't mean everyone else has," John cried out, rolling his eyes, "She saw I noticed and stopped I guess! What is the big deal about this anyway?"

At this, Sherlock let out an offended huff, let go of John and flounced out of the alley.

_'Merlin's beard, good thing Mycroft isn't such an insufferable git as Sherlock is or he'd spend his life as a cockroach, considered Anthea's display of temper.'_ John thought, suddenly grinning at the prospect of Anthea trying to deal with Sherlock when he was acting once again like a Drama Queen.

Just then his mobile started beeping.

**_You are a wizard John Watson. -A_**

**_Problem? You tried to break into our minds, so I stopped you. - JW_**

**_So I saw, fighting back and being overly protective. Let me think, probably Gryffindor right? ;) - A_**

**_Again: Problem? Does Mycroft know what you are? - JW_**

**_Does Sherlock know? If you want to keep it that way, I'd suggest you keep silent and I will too. You can check, I'm under order to watch out for Mycroft's safety. What will I find if I check your file? - A_**

**_Deal. And you'll find nothing other than that I'm a healer and employed at a muggle hospital. - JW  
_**

After he sent the last text, he put his phone back into his pocket, and hailed a cab.

Anthea being a witch was not a real surprise. After all Mycroft did seem important to the government and Aurors were placed in the offices of many important muggles just in case. Voldemort had been dead for some years now, but his followers still seemed to think muggles were playthings they could use whenever they fancied. And Anthea had just been doing her job by probing the people Mycroft had contact with. She wouldn't spill the beans about him, there was nothing to gain from it, and she would have to reveal herself too. The score was even between them, and Anthea knew that John was strong enough to both shield himself and Sherlock from her, so she would probably not try anything again.

Sherlock on the other hand was an entirely different problem. He was too observant for his own good sometimes. _'What am I thinking, this man is worse than Mr. bloody Filch and his cat...'_ with a sigh, he decided that he would have to try and be more careful around Sherlock. His wand was no longer safe in his drawers. Sherlock had acted odd after what he had seen today. And he wasn't to blame.

Thank god he kept all his magical belongings in a box that was sealed to look like a small wooden cube. Sherlock had tried to burn it in one of his experiments once, but when convinced that it meant something to his flatmate, sulkingly left it to him. But he couldn't keep his wand there, so he decided to carry it with him again from now on.

Still something would have to happen, he couldn't start playing hide and seek with Sherlock and hope to actually win.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock was already in their flat, curled on the sofa in his usual fetal position. John was hiding something. He knew it. And then there was the episode with Anthea, as if they were communicating without words! An argument? It looked like John had been the winner. But what exactly did he win?

Doubts were nagging him. Sure, what had happened between John and Anthea had been strange. In fact the first strange thing John had done since the magical repair of his skull...

_'Magical...,'_ Sherlock repeated his last thought over and over again. It had been no illusion, the skull had been broken! And now it was fixed, with no apparent traces of any substance that could hold the pieces together, in fact there weren't even any traces the skull had ever been any different from what it was now.

With a fluent motion, Sherlock slid off the couch and towards the mantelpiece. Carefully he took his skull and examined it again. It was in absolutely perfect condition! After sniffing at the skull Sherlock was sure: This thing had never been mended with any means known to him. Even if John would be able to piece it together so perfectly, any glue would leave a detectable smell at least for a few days. But there was absolutely nothing!

They had been his own words, if you eliminated all impossible solutions then the one that remained, however improbable it may be, must be the correct one!

But magic? Assuming this was indeed a possiblity, John had known exactly what he was doing. John must have learned this somehow.

Just as he was staring at his skull, trying to piece together all the things he had been playing through in his mind, he heard a key turn in the lock. _'John!'_

He spun around to see a slightly nervous John standing at the door. John knew he was suspicious, it occured to him. He was trying to figure out what Sherlock knew!

As this realisation hit him, Sherlock hurried to the door and slammed it shut, before cornering John once again.

"What have you done to the skull?"


	5. The Gamble

**AN:** Alright next chapter up! Thanks to Lucy, my awesome beta!

Please review!

* * *

Being cornered again, John looked up at his flatmate, but he knew that he wouldn't get away with lies this time. It suddenly hit him, that Sherlock had only ever started to be so incredibly clumsy, after John had repaired the skull. He'd had a bad feeling about it from the start, but he had done it for the sake of his friendship with the detective. And now it had blown up in his face.

The Statutes of Secrecy forbade any witch or wizard telling a muggle what he or she was, of course with the exception of married couples with children or muggleborn wizarding children. 'Damn the man who invented this,' John thought, 'this guy probably never had to deal with Sherlock bloody Holmes!'

If he told Sherlock and anyone found out, they would erase his memory. He knew how the spell worked, and he could do such a thing himself, but meddling with someone's mind like this would leave marks. And Sherlock being who he was he would find something out again, and again and again. His other option was putting Sherlock off his track, like he had done in the alley this morning. But he had been incredibly mean when he did it. Truth being told Sherlock did have the emotional range of a spoon sometimes, but this time he had actually been right about what had passed between him and Anthea. And obviously sulking didn't keep Sherlock occupied for long anyway.

"Sherlock look this isn't as simple as that...," John started, trying to get away from Sherlock's grip on his wrists.

"Why?" the detective answered, glaring at John, not letting the doctor move even an inch.

"If I tell you, there will be consequences, Sherlock. Serious consequences." John replied, once again trying to reason with the detective. But he knew already, before he had finished talking, that it was no good. It only made Sherlock loom even closer over him.

"Alright, alright Sherlock, we will talk," John then said resignation clearly audible in his voice.

"Then talk, John!" the other demanded, still not letting go of the doctor.

"Not like this. Come on let's sit and I'll try to explain..." John answered with a sigh. Convinced that the doctor wasn't trying to get off the hook again, Sherlock dropped his arms and flopped himself onto the couch, his eyes firmly on his companion.

"You must keep secret what you hear now. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, and the only exception to this rule are spouses, children or parents, OK Sherlock?" John asked the detective with a serious voice. Waiting until the other had nodded his consent before continuing.

"Magic exists. There are some people who can cast spells to do all sorts of things, like transfiguration, transport, conjure objects out of nothing and so on. Almost anything you can imagine. Those people are called witches or wizards. Can you follow me so far?" John started, watching every one of Sherlock's reactions but the detective stayed remarkably calm.

"I'm not stupid John, of course I can follow. So you point a stick at something and then poof? What is this magic, some kind of genetic thing?"

"So you saw me repairing the skull right?" John asked, as it had been the only time he had actually used his wand for anything. "Figures... But yes, basically that's it. As for your other question. I don't know. But magic is usually inherited from the parents, so I think it may be some combination of genes. There are also witches and wizards from entirely non-magic families though, like myself."

"Yes I saw you, I was looking for it when you sneaked into your room, so I waited in the closet," Sherlock replied, before asking some more questions. "And how did you learn this? Where? And why are you a doctor then if you can do this magic thing?"

"There is a school for magical children, that's where I learned. And I am not a normal doctor, I'm what they call a healer. That's the magical version of a doctor. I was in the army to find out if the non-magical soldiers were unknowingly attacked with any magic devices. It does happen." John explained, still watching Sherlock closely. " You seem to take this well Sherlock..." he started, but was interrupted by the detective.

"If you rule out all impossible solutions, the remaining one, however improbable it seems, must be the right one. My words, remember? This concept of magic is very ... fascinating."

"Watch it outside of this flat though Sherlock, I was not lying when I said it is forbidden to say a word to any non-magic person. There are trained wizards to erase any memory of magic in non-magic people. That is very dangerous though and can cause damage to the brain. I don't want them to lay their hands on you. And believe me if Anthea finds out she will report it. She already tried to break into our minds today. I blocked her out, that was why she was so angry."

"Anthea?"

"Yes, and Mycroft has no idea about it. She's an auror, that's what they call the magical special forces. Those and healers trained like myself are placed as a watch on important muggles, erm non-magic people, to protect them. There are wizards out there who would, given the chance, magically force someone from the government to do what they want, or even impersonate those persons. It's Anthea's job to protect Mycroft against such occurences. But I think she will report you to the Ministry of Magic too."

At this now Sherlock did look slightly alarmed. While the prospect of magic was more fascinating than alarming to him, the idea of someone meddling with his brain was apparently too much.

"And the only people to know are..."

"Spouses of witches and wizards, I mean you can hardly keep this secret if a child starts displaying some kind of magical behavior like making things it touches grow or so. Then the muggles that happen to have a magical child. And the prime minister..."

"AHA!" Sherlock cried out. "Then I know what we can do if anyone tries to have a go at me for knowing!"

"How Sherlock?" John asked, not sure what he was supposed to think of this. "You can't fight a wizard without any magic, at least not those wizards, they are trained for this! And while I'm good in combat, I can't fight against a group of them!"

"No, but it may be useful to know what you can do! Anyway, we tell Mycroft before Anthea finds out, if the prime minister knows, then Mycroft can use his influence on him to allow us to get away with this!"

"That's brilliant Sherlock! Actually that might work. Living with you can only result in you finding out again and again. If this happens they meddle with your brain, risking to cause damages. And it is against the wizarding law to damage muggles with magic. That is what my job with the army is all about!"

With a smile, both men got up from the sofa and rushed towards the door.

"The game is afoot, John!"


End file.
